


Ignorance

by orphan_account



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dissociation, F/M, Light Angst, Mental Instability, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A girl living on the road with a fascination for true crime discovers an unsolved mystery in her small-town rest stop, surrounding the son of her new friend. Determined to make her new life an exciting one, she bites off more than she can chew and finds herself wrapped up in horror she never prepared for. (This story is not meant to promote or romanticize anything included. It's purely fiction. It's up to you to dissociate real life from fiction.)
Relationships: Tobias Erin "Toby" Rogers | Ticci Toby/You, Tobias Erin "Toby" Rogers|Ticci Toby/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

Sobbing rang through the Roger's residence like a siren. The darkness consuming Connie's brain was growing unbearable. A woman once full of life, pushing her way through it as much as she could, was now fate to drown in her loved one's corpses. First, her lovely daughter's car accident, as if facing everyone you've ever known after something like that wasn't hard enough. Then her husband, murdered at the hands of her son, who's now yet to be found. A part of her wanted to believe the rumors that he was alive, so he could come back and finish her off too as to end her suffering. 

She couldn't do anything. Every moment she spent eating or sleeping she was flooded with the flashbacks; Emerging downstairs to find her lover's throat sliced open, choking on his blood, her son continuing to relentlessly cover his body in stab wounds no matter how loud she screamed for it to stop. It was burned into her brain, she had forgotten her life ever consisted of anything else.

In an attempt to replace this memory, she looked to others. She spent multiple nights on the couch watching family VHS tapes she dug out of the decaying garage. A high effort mission to brainwash herself into believing things were still innocent. That Tobias Rogers was still small and harmless, eyes sparkling with ignorance. That Lyra Rogers was still breathing.

When that failed, she lost hope once again. She had flipped every family photo in the house out of her sight. She stopped bothering to even attempt to cook for herself or bathe, she was as physically and mentally vacant of life as everyone she loved. She avoided going to work for as long as possible, but eventually had to force herself to go back because she was now the only one putting food on her table. 

This return wasn't all in torture though, because on her first day back she was asked to train a new employee: A carefree young girl that moved into town, who radiated the hope and ambition that seemed to flood her internally. Connie was initially irritated by this attitude but quickly found it reassuring, desperately clinging to the comfort this poor girl naturally made her feel and confiding in her. She felt motherly towards her, using this connection to cope with her missing murderer of a son. It was the first time she'd opened up to anyone since it happened, but then again she hadn't left her house since then either. 

When she was around (y/n) she felt as if her problems would be soon solved. Her personality was relaxing, and her (e/c) eyes reflected purpose that allowed everyone who met their gaze to replicate her ambition. Despite this, she remained a mystery. Connie wouldn’t realize it until much later but, no matter how many conversations she’d share or how much she’d open up to (y/n), she knew nothing about the girl aside from her effects.


	2. Chapter 2

If I could change one thing, it would be meeting Connie Rogers. 

I sat kneeling on the grassy ground that framed the supermarket, weaving a daisy crown. For no good reason, really. It was way too small to fit my head; it could be a daisy bracelet at least. Maybe a crown for a cat. Or a baby!

My inner conflict on the failing daisy crown was quickly interrupted by a quiet Connie kneeling next to me. 

“Using your break on a daisy-chain?”

“It’s supposed to be a crown.” 

She was quiet as usual. I finished up the chain and passed it to her with an offering smile, to which she without a second thought placed it on her wrist, fitting loosely as a bracelet. After she accepted my little gift we both stood up and returned to our shifts.

The store remained pretty dead throughout the rest of the night. This town was small, so the few people who lived here would only come occasionally. I didn’t mind the stillness because it gave me time to talk to Connie. I tended to feel obligated to be her shoulder to cry on but I didn’t mind because, as bad as it sounds, I found her suffering fascinating. For so much tragedy to happen all at once but to still be breathing and existing was something I admired about her.

On the other hand, I’ve always been so intrigued by true crime and it felt like I was face to face with one of the cases I’d always just read about. The murder may have already happened, but her son, the murderer, was still missing. He was somewhere, anywhere. Her suffering was still unsolved because although she witnessed her son kill her husband then set fire to the neighborhood, his body was yet to be found, and he was theorized to be the reason for a chain of unsolved murders to come after it. 

Perhaps my attraction to this kind of untouched danger was what led me here, to a desolate, boring, eerie small town in the middle of Oregon. The day I turned 18 I moved into my shitty car and hit the road with the small chunk of money I’d saved up from my hometown job. The money didn’t last as long as I expected, and now I’ve stopped here for a bit to make some more. 

Connie was my first friend here. I would say it was unexpected due to our age difference, but it was more unexpected for other reasons. I only ever had one close friend back home, she was two years older than me and ended up cutting me off once it got harder for us to bond. When we were younger we shared an interest in the paranormal and everything dark. As we got older, I held onto that, developing an interest in true crime and real mysteries alongside the supernatural; She became normal.

I’m not one to judge typical girls, I envy them because I’m sure life would be so much easier for me if I was happy being a stay-at-home mom to a man with questionable morals for the rest of my life. I’ve tried, too. When she first started to fit in I followed, but no matter how much of myself I repressed to blend in I was an outcast. 

Eventually, I accepted that I wasn’t meant to be like everyone else, I adapted to being alone and planned for my solitary future on the road. Connie’s friendship caught both of us off-guard, neither of us expecting to be capable of connecting with anyone right now. I was grateful for her feeling comfortable with me. She was such a sweet, caring woman. No one deserves to go through what she did, but she especially did not deserve it.

My thoughts were interrupted by her soft voice approaching my position at the pharmacy counter. 

“(Y/n), I was wondering if you’d let me make you dinner at my house tonight, to say ‘thank you’ for how kind you’ve been.”

“Yeah, of course!” I flashed a wide smile. I’d never been to her house yet. My more selfish thoughts wandered to the idea of getting to be right where it happened. I’ll be breathing in the same air that raised a killer. I tried to shake off these thoughts whenever they occurred because I felt guilty for them, but they never stopped. I couldn’t help my interest, but I did try.

I stuck around with her for two more hours before she locked up and I followed behind her car in mine to her home. When I parked, I stared at it for a moment, imagining what took place. What it was like to be a neighbor seeing the bloody teenage boy flee the house and pour the gas down your street. As I walked towards the door I imagined what it was like to be that boy, and dissociated a bit on the knowledge that I’m walking where he walked. My dissociation only increased as I entered the house. 

Connie led me to her dining table and told me to sit while she prepared dinner, but before I did I asked her if I could use her bathroom. She pointed me upstairs. The creak of the steps felt like this house had been abandoned for a few years, despite being lived in for many more. I wasn’t lying to her when I said I had to use the bathroom, I did. Just… Not enough to be in a hurry.

I was always painfully curious, but in this scenario it was inescapable. I didn’t want to disrespect Connie by prying her for details, so I’d rather use my chances to look for them on my own. Most of the doors upstairs were left open, and most of the furniture inside seemed untouched, making it easy to discern who lived where. Only one room had a double bed, meaning it was probably Connie and her late-husbands.

The room was simple. White walls, white sheets, a brown wooden bed frame, and two wooden side tables. The other two had twin beds. One was more empty, but the walls were painted a faded teal, and a pink blanket laid cleanly on the bed. I assumed that one belonged to Connie’s daughter who had died a bit longer ago, so they probably had already cleaned up her room.

The last one was undoubtedly that of a teenage boy. A color scheme of browns and greens covered the furniture, while the floor was covered in dirty clothes and trash. I didn’t want Connie to become suspicious of me, so I decided to only peer into the room and not go in. Instead, I observed the photos hung in the hallway. Framed photos were also on decorative tables against the wall, but they were face down so you couldn’t see the photos inside.

I picked up one to look. What I saw seemed hauntingly normal. It was one of those professionally shot family photos, the parents stood behind the kids with their hands on their shoulders. Connie looked a bit happier and full of life. Her husband looked stern, but his lips still curled into a smile.

Their kids looked so happy — Lyra was beautiful and displaying a toothy smile while Toby looked like any awkward innocent young boy. He looked to be about 13 there, and I believe he was around 17 when the incident happened. On that thought, I quickly did the math in my head. If still alive, he was probably around my age. 

After looking at the photos some more I quickly used the bathroom then rushed downstairs. Connie seemed to have noticed I took a bit too long and asked if I was okay. 

I gave a simple “I’m fine!” then sat at the table and talked with her until the food was ready.

She told me how happy she was to be cooking for someone else again. I really pitied her. Sometimes it physically hurt my heart if I thought about her for too long. She had made some simple spaghetti, and while eating she asked me questions about myself for once, mostly about how I live out of my car; I told her I sleep in the backseat and clean myself off in bodies of water I find, to which she insisted I use her shower and sleep on her couch for the night. I felt awkward about it but I knew she was probably just lonely, so I only declined her persistence twice before giving in. 

The rest of the night I laid on her couch watching stupid cable shows. I couldn’t sleep, because her house was loud. I heard footsteps on the stairs, but I kept my eye on them as I heard it. No one was there. I also heard noises outside but I wasn’t willing to go out and investigate. The most noise, however, was from the kitchen. Sounds of boots pacing on the tile floor only for nothing to be there.

I try to rationalize the unexplained before anything else, and if I can’t then I’d prefer to ignore it. Stressing over things out of my control isn’t ideal — Which is admittedly counterproductive considering I tend to only be interested in things out of my control.


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up a bit after noon unsure of when I eventually fell asleep last night. Connie had waited until I was awake to make breakfast, which I felt guilty about since it was well past morning. As we ate, she popped a question:

“Would you like to live here with me until you leave town?”

I was taken back at first, but I made a quick decision, weighing the pros and cons in my head as quickly as possible.

“Sure, if you’re alright with it!” I smiled.

“Of course! You can sleep in my daughter's old room, it’s all cleaned up.”

Again, I was taken-back. It would be a little uncomfortable sleeping in a dead girl's room. It was surreal enough to be walking on the same floorboards as these lost souls, to sleep in the same bed as one would be worse. That being said, my curiosity and drive for the unusual always win, and somehow I decided that sleeping in the bed of my new friend's dead daughter was more appealing than the backseat of my car. I was also still pitying Connie, feeling pressured to keep her company. I had no excuse not to, it’s not like I had my own home or family to go back to; So I agreed, and packed the few belongings I had into Lyra Rogers’ old bedroom.

I wasn’t a fan of the pastel mixture of colors displayed throughout the room, but I was in no position to be picky. The teal walls were uncomfortably blank and tied with the off-white carpet, the room felt too simple for me to adjust to. Minimalism wasn’t for me to begin with, but minimalism caused by death was less for me. I asked Connie for some tape then took the map I had previously kept in the glove box of my car that I’d mark with places I’ve traveled to in the states and taped it above the bed that centered the room. Exploring the small space, I started to find comfort in it. It was probably the fact that I hadn’t had a bedroom in a while.

The only furniture in the room was the bed, a desk accompanied with a desk chair, a little piano accompanied with a stool, and a chest in the closet, presumably for storage. There was one window facing the road that was framed with sheer pink curtains. I pulled the desk chair to the window to stare outside for a few minutes, watching the people in the street. Kids on bikes, playing with sports balls, running in their front lawns.

I tended to people-watch. It was easy to let my mind wander knowing that everyone around me was living their own lives. They all have their own struggles and pleasures, and they’ll all experience so many things in their entire lives that I might never. Maybe it was my inability to fit in with other human beings that made me admire those who exist in normality. A part of me constantly ached to know that I may never know what that feels like. Finally, I decided to go on a walk through the neighborhood to leave the house for a moment.  
Sometimes I forget I’m alive. I look at the living like I’m not one of them, and I rarely get ripped back into reality, until moments like what came next.

While walking on the sidewalk and watching the people on the other side of the street, I neglected what was in front of me, and came crashing into a man and falling onto my ass. I immediately started apologizing and he quietly offered a hand to help me up. I, being an awkward idiot, ignored his hand and stumbled myself back onto my feet. I was only able to get a quick look at him before he shoved his way past me. He was an average looking man, the only prominent details being sideburns, thick eyebrows, and a red flannel shirt. I remained a bit in shock from the situation before I kept moving, brushing it off. Not everyone is nice I suppose.

After strolling the neighborhood I followed a turn into a trail in the woods. I always found woods and forests to be therapeutic. Eventually, I came to a clearing and sat on a stump, taking in the sounds of untouched nature. About 5 minutes had passed, when I suddenly felt paranoid.

I'm not exactly sure what it was. The birds remained still and continued to sing, the trees kept swaying peacefully. However — I grew uncomfortable. It felt like being in a haunted house, feeling the energies shift and detecting unseen eyes on your back. I'm not always the brightest when faced with danger, but I know to trust my gut in situations like this. If I failed to use my survival instincts I wouldn't have lasted one week on the road as a woman.  
I quickly speed-walked back to Connie's house. 

The rest of the day passed by quickly. I learned that Connie hadn't seen my favorite movie so we had a movie night, and in exchange for watching my movie, I watched one of hers. That's when I was reminded that she was a very grown woman who didn't share very many interests with me, and I fought myself from falling asleep through two hours of a rom-com. 

After her choice of movie, we watched a random one that was playing on cable until she ended up falling asleep curled up on the arm of the couch. I turned it off once the credits started rolling and made my way upstairs. I soon realized how much scarier the house was to roam at night when I'm the only one conscious in it. On the way to Lyra's my new room, I was frozen in place, hearing a sudden movement. Looking towards the sound I realized it came from probably the worst place a spontaneous-late-night-noise could come from: Toby's room.

I had no excuse not to investigate this time; Other than me being a bit scared to. Shaking off my fear, I reassured myself that it was probably nothing, making my way to the room and turning the light on as quickly as possible. I scanned it, finding nothing but the same junk that littered it before — and a wide-open window. Was it always open? Refusing to give myself time to over-analyze the situation I raced to the window.

Somehow, the last thing I expected to see was a boy running towards the woods so fast that I could barely make him out. The one thing I could make out though, the same shade of fluffy brown hair I saw on the boy in the family photo. 

I locked the window and went to bed in my room, swearing to myself not to speak of this ever again. This was the last thing Connie needed to think about right now.


	4. Chapter 4

As much as I tried to ignore what I saw, it stuck in my mind. For the next week, it felt like I was in some weird time vortex. Everything that was normal and explainable went by in the blink of the eye, while the unusual slowly defined my days.

On Sunday, I woke up at 5 AM from a dream having a coughing fit so unbearable I couldn't go back to sleep. My dream was an endless loop of a random family I don't recognize being murdered. It played the same scenes of gore until I forced myself awake.  
On Monday, I was working my normal work shifts when the same man I bumped into came in, wearing the same flannel shirt. It seemed like once he noticed me at the counter he got uncomfortable, trying to subtly shoot me stares while mindlessly skimming the aisles until he eventually left.   
On Tuesday, I was on another walk through the woods and again grew paranoid. Maybe I just wasn't in the right mindset at this point, but this time I didn't leave, I continued through the trees. I only finally decided to turn around when I stumbled upon a sight I hope I can learn to forget — A bloody, disembodied hand emerging from a bush. I didn't want to investigate. I didn't want to call the cops and have to be involved, someone else can. Being the best person possible was the least of my interest when I already felt paranoid. I reassured myself that since it was in plain sight, I wouldn't be the only one to see it and the next person to would call someone.  
On Wednesday, nothing traumatic happened, but the coughing fit I experienced on Sunday returned and I haven't stopped since. I'll cough so hard that I cry or puke. I started trying to cure it with various medicine.  
On Thursday, I woke up coughing again, but once I gained more consciousness I realized I had been coughing up blood. Later that day as I was closing the store I swore I saw a man in a hood watching me from the edge of the woods. I told myself I was just seeing things.  
On Friday, the day went smoothly aside from Connie appearing to pick up on my change of energy, although I tried to mask it. In the night; That's when it got worse. I was seconds away from drifting into sleep when I heard another noise from the boy's bedroom, this one much louder. I considered just laying there but quickly decided I was more determined to have an answer as to what I witnessed before, staying quiet this time.

Grabbing the switchblade I kept in my bag for safety, I slowly but sneakily made my way towards the room. I didn't turn on the light as to not give the intruder a signal to run for it, so I navigated in the darkness trying to make out what I could with the help of the moon shining through the window — Oh. The open window.

I stood lightly leaning against the door frame of the boy's old room with my blade gripped tightly, scanning the dark room, and that's when I saw him. Not a random robber, not Toby.   
The man in the flannel.  
Only this time — he wore a tan jacket over the flannel, and as my eyes adjusted allowing me to see his face I realized he wore a white mask with eerie features drawn on it in black.

At the sight of him, my mind immediately started racing with possible outcomes for this situation. Had this weirdo been stalking me to rob me or kill me? When finding out where I worked, did he use that to follow me home tonight? Was he the guy in the hood I thought I saw? Am I about to get Connie into more danger because of this?

I decided to back out and call the cops, only momentarily forgetting to watch the pressure of my footsteps, and the second I stepped back the floorboards creaked beneath me. The man was immediately alerted by this and ran towards me at such speed I couldn't even process it until his hand was covering my mouth, his arm gripped me in place, and I was being dragged towards the open window. 

The thing is; He never needed to cover my mouth, because for some idiotic reason I was still afraid of startling Connie, so I never bothered to scream even when he charged. I think that was when I realized I wasn't really afraid of death, considering it only managed to cross my mind once the intruder shoved me out of the window, and at that point, I'd just accepted it. I couldn't die from that height anyway, I'd probably just break some bones.

I quickly landed, surprisingly with nothing broken — because I'd fallen into someone's arms. I looked to the owner of the arms to see the hooded man I saw by the woods yesterday. Only I now got a look at his face mask, which seemed to be covered by a black cloth with a red frowny face plastered over it. As quickly as I landed, I was dropped onto the ground.  
I closed my eyes as my back hit the pavement roughly, opening them again to see a new masked figure hovering over me then pressing a square of cloth over my face, knocking me out.

I wouldn't realize it until I woke up but the last one I saw was the owner of the familiar brown hair I saw running from the open window, but I couldn't confirm it was Toby because his face was covered by a striped mouth-guard and brown goggles with yellow lenses.

I honestly couldn't tell myself it was just a dream. I felt everything. But since the rest of it went unexplained and I woke up to Connie fine and the house seemingly untouched, I felt no choice but to ignore the memory until further notice. That was until I undressed to get into the shower and had to do a double-take at the mirror, noticing a pattern of fresh bruises on both of my arms. What the FUCK could've done that?

As fast as the weird things started happening, they stopped. After that whole experience, I didn't see anything else, not even the man in the flannel who I'd awkwardly end up in the same area as constantly, I hadn't seen him since. It helped. I convinced myself it was just some weird dream, choosing to neglect the unexplained bruises. 

I also became very accustomed to living with Connie. It was like having a mother-figure, which made me realize how much I lacked one. Neither of my parents were very involved in my life. I don't think they even know that I left. Ever since I hopped in my car and fled town, I haven't gotten a single call or text. Unfortunately, I think they were probably glad to have one less responsibility, and that's all they saw me as.

When I came back to work on Monday, it was probably the most normal shift I'd worked so far. Not even the weird crackheads of the town came in to disturb the normality, and that was usually a daily thing. I stocked shelves most of the day, taking in the kenopsia of a small-town grocery. Customers were averagely rare and I spent that Monday, along with the rest of the week, talking endlessly with Connie.

It was amazing how we never ran out of things to talk about, considering she and I are both too socially awkward to just greet anyone else. It genuinely felt like having a mother; Our similarities, our ability to understand one another, our bond. Sometimes I forgot that we'd only met less than a month ago.

On the weekend I finally opened up to Connie about the odd experiences, but playing them off as hallucinations and making them as vague as possible. I wanted her support without worrying her, so I never mentioned any resemblance to her son that I spotted. She insisted I start seeing her therapist, offering to pay for it.

Honestly, it was lovely. I was able to have someone I could let out all my bullshit to without worrying I was going to hurt them. 

On my third appointment, I went especially in-depth about my experience in town and admitted to thinking I saw Toby. That was when I learned that my therapist, Connie's therapist, had been his too. I curiously tried to get details about how he was, but every attempt earned the same:

"(Y/n), I can't talk about that."

She decided that Connie taking me in at such an odd time and becoming a motherly figure to me might have caused me to develop delusions influenced by her unstable mental state. When I opened up about the limb I found in the woods, she told me I had hallucinated it because it was a common trail and there had been no bodies found or missing persons cases. Weirdly, I felt comforted subtly being told I was crazy. I'd rather believe I'm sick than have any of it be real.

But on the other hand, she just lied to calm me. One night out of curiosity, I looked into crime in the town.

Since the incident with the Rogers' family, there had been fifteen locals gone missing, five of them later found as a corpse.

I had a hard time trusting my new therapist after that and found myself closing up entirely once again.

She prescribed me multiple different medications, some of which I didn't think I needed. I was starting to question the eligibility of professionals in this town, but dismissed it, considering she already diagnosed me with a paranoid disorder and I could now just pass every concern I have as paranoia.

As easy as I can pretend it is to repress my experiences, deep down I couldn't. One night I found myself on an internet deep-dive into the murder of Connie's husband. I ended up on forums where people dumped theories on the case, and at first, I wondered why people would be so invested in a random local murder case. As tragic as it was, I'd heard much worse unsolved cases. 

Then I saw the name "Slenderman" start to come up. People found proof that he was an influence on people in the local area, and claimed that since Toby was missing, that was the reason. "Slenderman got him."

Initially, I thought that was insanity. Of course, I'd heard about Slenderman. He's an internet myth; Myth. But maybe I was crazy — shocker, I know — because the more I read the more I was convinced, and my paranoia took over when I found out about Slendersickness. One of the major symptoms was the exact coughing I've been having ever since the first fit, and the other was paranoia.

And then I felt even crazier once I looked into other supposed Slenderman "proxies", people he'd taken and corrupted, and I saw the man in the flannel and the hooded man who joined him with the other figure that night.

My mind was racing with panicked theories as to what I was wrapped up in. Was the Slenderman real and targeting me, was he the reason for the sudden paranoia disorder? IS he the reason the murderer son is missing? Was it really him I saw, and the other men were under this supernatural entities control too?

No. Absolutely not. I finally convinced myself I was just fucking nutty so I could sleep that night.


	5. Chapter 5

As it turns out, repressing your traumatic experiences doesn't automatically make them a delusion of the past. 

After forcing myself to sleep that night, I was rudely awakened by another unwelcome sound in the house. I checked my phone for the time and saw it was 2:14AM. My first thought of the day was: How doesn't Connie wake up to this?

I sleepily emerged from the bedroom to be proven wrong. Connie was standing just a foot away from me in the hallway.

"Was that you?" I grumbled, rubbing my eyes.

Once I stopped rubbing and my sight adjusted, I noticed her shaking with wide eyes.

She whispered, "No."

I gave her a look of confusion and she continued. "I couldn't sleep. I heard the noise and came out here."

She was visibly in panic. I tried to calm her by telling her I hear noises at night all the time and it's always the house settling. I didn't expect her reaction,

"You've been hearing noises and you didn't tell me?"

I froze. "I didn't want to worry you."

"Well, now I'm worried!" Her expression changed from panicked to a mix of anger and shock, "What if he's been coming back?

My face softened. I would never tell her what I saw. If this is how she acts from just a small noise, I'm sure she'd have a heart attack if I told her I think I saw her son.

"Connie, I really don't think he would. It's just a small sound. If someone was in the house, you'd hear it."

Eventually, she calmed down and I talked her into going to sleep. However, once she went back to her room, I quickly investigated the house. If anyone was in here then they would have fled once they heard us talking, but I held out hope they just hid because if it were one of those three men again, I wanted answers.

I found nothing.

The next day I decided to buy a bow and arrow from a local shop. Maybe not the most threatening self-defense option, but I did archery growing up, so I'd consider myself already quite good with it. Nonetheless, I'd spend the rest of that day in Connie's backyard, shooting cans for target practice while simultaneously keeping a paranoid eye on the woods behind the home. At one point I borrowed some sewing string from Connie and tied a can to a branch, practicing on a moving target as well. I just wanted the assurance that if anything opposed a threat to me again, I at least felt a bit strong about it.

Along with buying the bow, I grabbed a small taser from my car. I'd kept it in the glove box for emergencies, but now I kept it in my pocket. 

As you can imagine, I felt much safer. I decided that, paranoia or not, it's better to at least be cautious. I had no idea what I was dealing with.

As days went by and nothing was happening my curiosity got the better of me. I headed back into the trail in the woods, keeping my hand close to the taser within my jeans front pocket. The further I got the more I found myself taking in the beauty of nature again, instead of keeping a close eye on every unnatural movement within that nature.

As odd as this town could be, it was beautiful. From the large barely-touched forest to the small diners and shops that looked like they were rotting away. It might not be a beautiful sight to others, and along with the crime it might be scary, but something about it felt warm to me. 

And that odd sense of warmness was sparked again when I came across an abandoned building in a clearing. The planks on the outside were dark and peeling away while the floorboards on the porch and steps were dangerously rotten. It reminded me of some houses in Connie's neighborhood, ones that weren't saved in time when the boy set fire to them.

This building didn't look to be a house, though. It was quite large, longer than it was wide, and there seemed to have been wear from a sign above the front door, but no sign to tell me what it used to be. 

I didn't go inside because I knew it was dangerous. Old buildings can have rotting floors you fall right through or black mold that's extremely toxic. Yes, I didn't go inside, but I planned to eventually. Maybe I'd buy a mask to cover my nose and mouth to avoid anything toxic, and I'd bring a friend to watch out for me. 

Shit. I don't have friends.

Connie wouldn't want to go and I didn't want to go alone. I wasn't in the mood for more suffering right now. 

On my work shift the next day, I locked eyes with a certain man in the candy aisle. Not the flannel dude, I still hadn't seen him since the incident. This was just a regular guy, so I'm not sure what about him felt special. He had dirty blond hair, brown eyes, a slight mustache, and wore a simple light brown hoodie and jeans. After he wandered away from my sight deeper into the aisles I decided to go approach him. I needed to start learning how to make friends, okay?

"Hi! Are you finding everything okay?" I smiled maybe a bit too wide.

"Yeah." He returned a small smile.

This is going nowhere. Without a second thought, I went for it.

"I'm (Y/n)."

He fully turned to face me and held out a hand, "Brian."

I shook his hand and kept making awkward small talk. I realized a bit too late that he might've taken it as me flirting, considering a normal person doesn't just look at another human being and decide to chase them down and become friends. Either way, I think I did well. 

Eventually, after some getting to know each other I brought up the topic of how odd this town was, to which he didn't seem to agree with, denying everything I observed about it. Awkwardly, I tried to jump from that topic onto the abandoned building. I was absolutely desperate and it was definitely apparent. This poor guy probably thought I was going to murder him.

He scratched his face while replying, "Yeah, I think I've seen that place while going on walks."

"Have you ever gone in?"

He shook his head.

"Oh, well I've just been curious about it..." I crossed my arms, "I've been wanting to look inside but I'm scared to go alone."

I figured that if I expressed fear about it then he'd feel like he had to watch out for me there. Maybe that's slightly manipulative, but I'd rather subtly trick someone into hanging out with me than break my legs falling through the floor. 

He agreed to go with me. He didn't seem to be a man of many words, but I wasn't very expressive myself around new people, so I assumed he was just timid too. He gave me his number and we arranged to meet in the woods the next day after I got off of work.


	6. Chapter 6

The universe was giving me every sign not to go to the building the following day. I fell on my face putting my pants on, I spilled milk making cereal, and at work I dealt with 5 different customers being mad at me for things out of my control. As annoying as those were, the last sign was plain cruel. I passed three dead cats on the road while driving home. The weird thing I only noticed later was that none of them looked hit. They were all laying dead on the side of the road with no marks or blood. I choked on my tears after each one. Show me human limbs all you want, but you've gone too far once you kill an animal. 

Once I got home I dressed up properly for the occasion, covering myself protectively and wearing a coat with plenty of pockets, along with tactical boots, gloves, and a dust mask I picked up from the store before I left. I put my taser in the coat pocket and a switchblade, just in case. If I went alone I might've even brought my bow for security but I figured Brian was probably weirded out by me enough. 

When I felt prepared enough I let Connie know I was heading out and made my way to the woods. Brian was waiting just outside the trail's entrance for me. While we walked through the woods I asked a question,

"Have you ever seen anything odd in here?"

He looked at me for a moment. 

"No, never." 

Eventually, we came upon the building. It was only then that I realized the door was boarded shut just like the windows. Brian had a quick solution, scanning the windows along the side of the long building until he found one where the boards seemed weaker than the rest, then he kicked it through and motioned for me to come to him. When I did, he startled me by lifting me and shoving me through the window. I tried to repress my panic that I'd fall into a dangerous spot, but luckily it appeared okay. He jumped through the window after me.

I steadied on my feet as I took in my surroundings. We were in a room. It seemed like any furniture had been cleared out, and the walls inside were twice as rotten as the outside of the building. When we left the room into a long hallway, I realized how dark it was inside.

"I should've brought a flashlight." I thought out loud.

"Here," he quickly pulled one from his back pocket and handed it to me.

“Smart, thank you." I smiled and he returned it. I added, "By the way, I brought a knife, in case we run into anyone here. Oh, a taser too."

"Oh, okay." He seemed uncomfortable. I really hope he didn't think I was going to hurt him, I was purely curious about the place. 

We wandered deeper into the building, strolling through the hallway and peering into each room. Most were empty, but some had beds, small tables, counters against the walls, and one even had what looked like a very old-styled hospital bed paired. I told Brian that I wondered if this used to be an old hospice or something. He just made a 'Hm' noise. 

In one of the very last rooms, I decided to go inside because it seemed the most full. There was another hospital bed, a bedside table, counters with a sink, and objects scattered among the floor. The first thing I saw down there was a pair of scissors.

"Brian, look," I called.

I heard no movement or response so I peeked out of the room. I didn't see him, so I called his name again. No response. I started to dissociate. I just stood there at the door of the room dissociating for a solid minute or so when I heard a noise behind me.

I turned around steadily. The last thing I expected to see was a cat. Almost completely forgetting what I was looking for, I kneeled to pet it. Only I couldn't, because as soon as I kneeled, the cat's mouth curled into a human-like smile, and I fell backward on the floor in shock. I quickly regathered myself, flipping over and stumbling onto my feet, grabbing onto my knife in the process. When I did, I didn't see the cat. I hastily looked around me; I saw nothing.

I called out one more time, my voice shakier than the last. "Brian?"

No response.

It's fine. I probably just hallucinated the cat and Brian's probably just messing with me. Because strangers definitely play pranks on strangers in an eerie building at night.

Somehow, it was only then that I realized how stupid it might've been to invite a stranger in this odd town to an abandoned building in the woods. This entire time I was more concerned with whether or not I seemed threatening when I should've been looking for signs of a threat.

I decided to stop calling out to him and look for him instead, holding my knife tightly in front of me while my other hand gripped the flashlight. My heart was racing a bit too quickly for me to convince myself to calm down. My hands were shaking and I noticed my fingers twitching oddly. I tried to make my footsteps as light as possible but the floorboards creaked the second I touched them no matter how sly I tried to be. 

I noticed the boards of a window had been busted in one room, separate from the one we entered from as it was on the other side of the building. I went in to investigate and look around the room.

That's when I saw him in the corner of my eye. Not Brian. Not the man in the flannel. Not Toby. The man I was most dreading the sight of.

The Slenderman.

Standing outside the window, at a bit of a distance, staring at me despite his lack of eyes. He was as tall as the trees and looking directly at him sank my heart like concrete in water and dissociated me almost debilitatingly. That almost was particularly lucky, allowing me to make a run for it, but it felt like he could've debilitated me if he wanted to — he was just toying with me. 

I bolted across the building to exit through our entrance window, only to face him again through that one once I got to it. I was trapped inside the building. As I stared directly at the thing, I called out for Brian once again, just for extra measure. I didn't have much to lose if I was already in the creature's line of sight.

I heard another noise behind me and turned to face it, only to be immediately struck. My vision faded too soon for me to comprehend who or what had knocked me out, and the last thing I felt was my back hitting the rough floor.


	7. Chapter 7

Much to my surprise, I woke up the next morning. I found myself in an unfamiliar room under unfamiliar bed covers. Looking around me, it seemed as if I was in another abandoned building. The peeling, rotting walls and grime among the just as rotting floor. Only it wasn't abandoned, because when I looked to the other side of the room someone was in a chair against the wall. I quickly recognized who; The same disguised figure who resembled Toby. He was looking in my direction.

"Hello?" I was blatantly half-asleep. 

He didn't hesitate.  
"I was supposed to kill you."  
I stiffened. "What?"  
"I was supposed to kill you." His voice was deep but crackly. I didn't know how I was expected to reply.

"Why haven't you?"

He never responded to that. I didn't know what to do. I was clearly in a threatening situation and if I tried to run it'd just get harder for me, as learned by last night.   
Fuck. Last night. Every detail suddenly came back to me. Slenderman was real. I tried to combat that thought by repeating mentally that it was in my head, but the voice telling me he was real seemed to be much louder.

"Did I see... Slenderman?" I felt stupid at that moment, but I was in no position to be confident.  
"I wasn't there. You were brought here by someone else."  
"Who?" 

Almost on cue, I heard a door open in the house, presumably the front door as new footsteps followed it and then came to open the door of the room I was in. It was the man in the flannel with his brown jacket and mask, spotting me and immediately switching his masked gaze to the one in the chair.  
"Are you a fucking idiot?" he yelled.  
The man in the goggles shrugged.

"Yeah, don't answer. Of course you are."  
He pulled a pistol from his jacket and aimed it at me, and the other one immediately ran in front of the bed to block me.  
"Stop, I'll do it." He had no tone to his pleading. 

"Then do it. Right now."  
The one in the goggles fidgeted and his neck twisted to the left. "Not now. I'm going to though, okay?"

The masked man seemed to soften before he left the room and slammed the door without a word. The other turned towards me. I wasn't afraid to speak considering I figured this would be my deathbed.  
"Why are you waiting? Answer me." 

Somehow he seemed to be the more submissive one in his demeanor. I also noticed his hands twitching.  
"I don't know."   
I gave up on that question. "Why are you supposed to kill me?"  
He was more willing to answer that one, "You were getting too close."  
"To what?"

His neck twitched again as he crossed his arms, taking a moment to reply. "Everything."  
I looked down. I figured this was confirmation; That Slenderman and everything tied to him I read about was real. In that case, I only had one more question.  
"Toby? Is that your name?"

He was silent again. Eventually, he tossed down his arms and went back to his chair.  
I sighed and leaned my head back against the headboard, "I'm guessing that's a yes."  
I saw him nod and threw my head forward to face him, now curious as ever. I'd never talked to a murderer before, I felt like I had so much to ask but nothing came to mind. He noticed my interest and seemed to focus on me too, directing his body towards me and crossing his legs on the chair as if he were a child. Eventually I found a question to ask.

"Have you been visiting your old house?"  
"What?" His head tilted a bit and he continued after I couldn't find a way to reiterate my question, "I don't remember my house.”  
"You don't? Do you remember your mother?"

He shook his head. I was confused. I saw him run from the house and saw him when I saw the other two. He had been visiting, I saw it.   
I assumed he was just lying to me. "I saw you there. I've been living there."  
He repeated his "What?" only much softer and sadder sounding than the last one. 

I furrowed my eyebrows in disbelief.  
"He took my memories. I don't know what it was like before."

"Slenderman?"

He went silent again and never responded to that either. I dropped the questions for the time being and awkwardly stayed put, unsure of what to do in this situation. There was someone else outside this room and someone inside it, both expecting me to be murdered at some point, preventing me from running. I patted my pants pockets to check if I had any of my belongings and found them emptied.

I stayed in place waiting for... Anything. Toby stayed in his place too, still facing me. I avoided looking at him so it didn't feel any more awkward, but at one point he turned his head to look out the window behind his chair and I used that to take in his appearance. I couldn't see his face obviously, but the state of him outside of that was horrible.

His clothes were covered in both dried blood and dripping fresh blood along with dirt to the point I almost couldn't see the stripes on the sleeves of his hoodie. His hair also had a residue of dried blood along with being ratted and uncared for. It remained a bit long for a boy but clearly was cut, because of how choppy it seemed to be cut. It was as if he took the hatchets attached to his waist and used them to trim his own hair. I almost accidentally laughed at that thought.

Along with the hatchets on his belt, his bottom half was twice as covered in blood and dirt as the top. He must never wash his clothes and I doubted he ever showered either. It was only after that thought when I realized how much the room stunk like a corpse. I assumed it was from him. It was disturbing if he'd just killed so much that he himself smells dead. 

He looked back at me and saw me observing before I could pretend I wasn't. I looked up to where his eyes would be behind his goggles. Surprisingly, he was the one to awkwardly look away after that.

Then he asked the stupidest question possible. "Do you want to go home?"  
I looked at him like he was an idiot. "Do you think I'd rather be here, doing nothing next to a killer?"  
He seemed unphased by everything except the 'doing nothing' part. "Are you bored?"  
I held my 'really?' expression as I shook my head to say yes. 

He stood up and looked around. He clearly had no idea how to solve this issue and considering I'm here because I'm only meant to be killed, I didn't expect him to find a solution at all. Eventually, he tossed his arms and looked back at me.

"What do you want to do?"  
I spoke a bit slow, in disbelief of the situation I was in. "I don't know..."  
He kept just staring at me as if waiting for a real answer.   
I stumbled to find one, feeling insecure. "We could... Talk?”

He sat down on the bed in front of me. "Okay. Talk."

I don't think I ever stopped my expression of both confusion and shock. "Well... I was thinking you talk; About yourself."  
"Why?"  
I pressed my lips together. "You're interesting, I guess. I mean this isn't a normal thing."

He probably didn't know what normal was if he really did have no memory of anything but being a proxy. That assumption seemed to be correct as he quietly reflected after that. I wished I could see his face more, I never realized how essential expressions were to understanding someone. 

"Can I see your face?"  
His reflection seemed to stop as he tensed. "No."  
"Your eyes at least? I'm not used to this."

He sighed and lifted his goggles. Darkened eyes met mine, eclipsed by a confusing mix of innocence and malice. I realized how inhumanly pale his skin was. I don't think I ever noticed that in the family photos. He looked like a corpse, almost grey as if his heart recently stopped beating. His thick eyebrows were somehow as untamed as his hair. I didn't think eyebrows had to be tamed until now. Perhaps I was being over-analytical because it's all I saw of him. 

Now being able to see him emote better, I noticed that despite facing me, he rarely looked at me. His eyes would rather look down as if he was shy, which is a trait I'd doubt someone like him would have with his victim. In fact, it didn't feel like I was right in front of a killer. It felt like I was talking to some awkward pubescent boy my parents forced me to hang out with because he had no friends. 

He seemed to find more comfort in me saying nothing. You’d assume from his insecure demeanor that he expected reassurance, but when I only observed him something made him feel okay to remove the rest of his disguise.

Sliding the cloth on his mouth off his face, I immediately locked onto a significant feature. His mouth looked like it had been ripped open on the side, showing some teeth. It looked infected and putrescent, disgusting but in the sense of a rotting body. The obscure beauty of decay and trace of pain, festering to hollow out a person. I started to wonder if he even survived what happened; If I was talking to a ghost, still locked in decomposition.

He noticed my stare. "It's always been there."  
"You don't remember how, huh?"  
He nodded.

After forcing my eyes away from the wound, they scanned the rest of his face. The rest of his features seemed normal and familiar from the photos I was surrounded by inside Connie's house, other than them being layered in discoloration and a few bruises. His victims had probably fought back enough to affect him. 

It was odd to see someone so upfront who I’d only seen in innocent family photos, whether it was displayed in Connie’s house, on news articles or wanted posters, only now that I’m face to face with the person in the photo it’s an empty torn shell of what they seemed to once be. A toxic but overwhelming part of me wanted to be the one to refill him with life out of pity. If I hadn’t known what he’d done, he’d seem like just a scared child.

His gloved hands were clasped together as he seemed to lightly rock himself. I didn't understand why he seemed nervous. Surely someone with his lifestyle would have an ounce of confidence just showing himself to a stranger.

Eventually, I came to the theory that he never took off his cover-up, considering it didn't seem like his life consisted of anything other than this. At the same time it seemed like it was something we was waiting to do for a while.

When around people as timid as me I would sometimes have an overdrive that made me the more talkative one since I knew how they were feeling at that moment — I'm not sure how that feeling came up with Toby. He was clearly stronger than me and I was just prey. As much as my head told me to repress that feeling because he's a fucking murderer my heart was begging relentlessly to allow it.

And the heart won, of course. I pushed conversation and his short, sharp answers got longer and fuller. When he showed discomfort I changed the topic, but it seemed like as he got more comfortable he was finding any reason to start talking about that topic as if he'd never opened up to anyone in his life.  
It did appear certain that he had no memory of his past, but he had enough active issues to ramble about. 

I noticed more as he talked that he had quite a bad stutter. I didn't mind because I'd frequently do the same myself, although much milder than his. Sometimes he would just choke on a syllable, getting visibly frustrated at it, and I'd interrupt him with the word he was trying to say so he could move along. Similarly, as he annoyed himself with his stutters or when he was mentioning the Slenderman, his twitches were more prominent. 

I was sure to share my own issues to make him feel safe sharing his. When I mentioned my recent diagnoses and medications he started venting about all of his disorders, each one taking me by surprise the more he listed them. Connie had mentioned a few things, but not others. This boy was an enigma. The one that caught my attention most was the inability to feel pain. 

"You can't feel anything?" I asked, leaning forward.  
"I can feel some good things, I think." He furrowed. "I don't think I've felt anything good actually..."  
I tilted my head, "Is that from the disorder or your situation?"

He shrugged and went quiet for a moment before adding, "I can feel the heat from the sun, and I like that."  
I felt guilty smiling at things he said but something about it felt pure. "That's lovely."

"I get marked a lot while working though and I don't realize it until — until I'm bleeding everywhere."

He stood up and started to pull up his hoodie. I might've felt embarrassed if I didn't immediately see how wounded the guy was. His torso looked like an odd piece of art; A multitude of bruises along with thick and thin, open and closed wounds. Some of them looked infected which worried me, but I was trying to avoid actually empathizing with him as much as possible.

"You don't look after yourself. These are bad." I looked up from his wounds to meet his eyes, which were finally looking back at me for more than a second.

He put his shirt down and only slightly huffed in response. One of the voices flooding my thoughts offered the idea that being nice to him would save me, and therefore I should let my tendencies to care for others take over. In actuality, it was a terrible idea. After all, as much as I love Connie, my will to help her is what got me here. Along with my damned curiosity to be fair.

I asked him if he had any medical supplies. He thought on it before leaving the room and coming back with a dingy first-aid kit that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. Digging through it, I found a few things I could clean him up with. I had him stand in front of me holding up his hoodie as I sat on the edge of the bed and got to work. It seemed to be both a blessing and a curse that he was insensitive to pain because none of the cleaning hurt him, despite the exudate being enough to make me cringe just witnessing it. I wrapped the majority of his hands and arms in gauze and tried to sparingly use bandages among his abdomen, but the supplies were limited. 

When I finished, he left the room. He didn’t thank me; Not that I expected him to, but maybe I was hoping it’d be a bonding moment. I think that deep down my optimism was painfully tugging to help him in the hope that it’d make me a hero. That maybe if he had just one person to care about him, he would stop killing — Perhaps he’d give himself up and bring some closure to the loved ones of his victims.  
But I was too stubborn to learn that I would never be lucky, and people were never simply good. 

And when he came back, gripped me and shoved a familiar square of fabric against my face; As I started to fade out once again, something managed to make me feel excited to wake up. Something managed to make me think I was close to fixing everything, blissfully unaware that in actuality, every time I was forced to fall asleep — everything was getting worse.


End file.
